


Two of a Kind

by Rochelle_Templer



Category: All Creatures Great and Small (TV), All Creatures Great and Small - James Herriot
Genre: Character Study, Gen, Humor, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-23
Updated: 2018-08-23
Packaged: 2019-07-01 15:52:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15777252
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rochelle_Templer/pseuds/Rochelle_Templer
Summary: A new addition arrives on Biggins' farm. Not one that he had asked for and possibly not one that would stay for very long.





	Two of a Kind

**Author's Note:**

  * For [darrowby85](https://archiveofourown.org/users/darrowby85/gifts).



> This is a prompt fic that I fulfilled for darrowby85. It was a flower-based prompt set and one of the flowers she chose was thistle (which stands for misanthropy) and the character was Biggins. 
> 
> Having never written for him before, I couldn't resist the challenge. This takes place around Season Six of the show.

It was while Biggins was checking on one of his cows that he first spotted that cat.

Buttercup was easily his second best cow, and he had noticed that she had been off her food for the last couple of days. However, Biggins was still hesitant about calling up the vets at Skeldale. He remembered the last time Buttercup had been sick back when she was a calf. Diphtheria, Herriot had said. Needed fancy injections, he had said. Sure, she had gotten better, but just after that, Biggins had seen Herriot riding around with new tires on his car. Seemed like an awfully funny coincidence to him.

Biggins looked Buttercup over one more time and shook his head. He’d try giving her something he had on hand to treat cows and would wait one more day before putting up with more of Herriot’s double-talk.

He had just finished up giving the cow a spoonful of the tonic he had fetched from the house when a sound coming from a nearby pile of hay caught his attention. A huge feline emerged from the center of the hay. Female, from what Biggins could guess at a distance. She had brown and grey stripes all over her body except for on her four white paws.

The cat jumped up onto one of the wooden partition that separated the cows from each other. Her gold eyes narrowed as she watched him.

Biggins glared back at her. He had no interest in acquiring another mouth to feed. However, he did have a problem with rats in his barns and storage shed.

He pointed a stubby finger at her. “Don’t expect me to take care of you. There’s plenty of ways for you to earn your keep around here. So you get to work on ‘em, and maybe I’ll let you stay. But you try any begging with me….”  He wiggled his fingers at the cat while taking in a sharp puff of breath through pursed lips. “…and out you go. You got that?”

The cat didn’t change expressions in the least. She simply continued to stare, impassive and seemingly disinterested. Then she hopped down and leisurely strolled out of the barn.

Biggins gave a curt nod to her retreating form. “That’s right, you understand me.”

The cat soon disappeared from view, and he turned his attention back to his cow. No, it still looked poorly, even after the tonic. He probably would have to call Herriot tomorrow. Biggins was certain that Herriot would be pleased about that. He had noticed that the vet had a cracked head lamp on his car the last time he was here, and Biggins figured Herriot was looking for an opportunity to be able to replace it.

* * *

 

The next afternoon went much like Biggins figured it would.

“I only called you out here to tell me why my cow isn’t eating,” he had told Herriot. “Now you’re telling me that she has lumps in her udder. What does that have to do with her not eating?”

“I already told you, Mr. Biggins,” Herriot replied in that annoyingly controlled style of his. “It’s all part of the same problem: wooden tongue. It’s why she’s not eating and it’s why she has those lumps in her udder.”

“Maybe, but how do I know it’s all related?” Biggins asked. “How do I know that you’re not just trying to say it is so you can put them together and fatten up your bill?”

Herriot let out a loud sigh. He was always like that in Biggins’ opinion. Always over-dramatic.

“Mr. Biggins, difficulty eating as well as cysts on the tongue and elsewhere in the soft tissues are classic symptoms of wooden tongue. I’m putting them together because they are all the result of the same infection. I cannot treat one and not the other.”

The conversation went on like that for another couple of minutes, but Biggins could see that there was no use in making his point any clearer. Like it or not, he would have to pay for that new head lamp after all.

He made sure to supervise Herriot while he gave the first of his treatments to Buttercup. After accepting some medicine to give her later that night and reminding him that payment of the bill was dependent on Buttercup getting better, Biggins watched Herriot drive off. That vet was going far too fast in that car of his. He figured that this was probably why Herriot and both of the Farnons went through petrol the way other people went through water.

He started to head back toward the house when a yelp near his storage shed interrupted his thoughts.   Biggins ambled over toward it and was nearly bowled over when his dog, Scotty, raced out of there like he was being chased by the Devil.

“Hey!” he yelled. “Hey, you get back here.”

But the dog paid him no mind and continued to run toward one of the back fields. Then Biggins looked back at the shed to find that stray cat standing in the doorway. She had the same look of contempt she had had yesterday, and it wasn’t difficult for Biggins to figure out what had happened.

“You,” he said, pointing an accusatory finger at her. “I thought I told you to make yourself useful. How’s scaring off my dog useful? I’m not warning you again.”

He had marched over to the shed and just as he was about to reach for the cat, she darted back inside. Biggins followed her, but she had retreated to one of the cluttered corners of the shed. Currently, she was underneath an old plow that he never used, but wasn’t about to throw away. He glared at the glowing eyes that were still visible in the dusty shadows.

Biggins scowled at her. “You can’t stay there forever. And when you come out, you better be seeing to the rats around here.”

There was no reply from the iridescent orbs in the corner. Not that he expected one.

* * *

 

Three days later, there was another visit from Herriot.

“As you can see, Mr. Biggins she is getting better. We caught it early so the treatment is making a rapid difference.”

“Of course she’s doing better,” Biggins made sure to counter. “But not because of your fancy treatments. It’s because I switched her to cake these last couple of days. She just wanted something different to get her appetite is all.”

Herriot stared at him silently. Biggins imagined that Herriot thought that look would encourage the other person to concede to his point of view. It didn’t work, and Biggins wasn’t about to tell him that.

Instead, he got to the really important matter at hand.

“But I suppose it won’t make any difference in your bill, will it?” he said. “Well all right, those lumps in her udder are a little smaller, but I still say she’s on her food again because I switched her feed around. But I’m sure you’ll charge me for both of them anyway.”

Herriot didn’t say much after that other than to mention that he would look in on Buttercup again soon. Biggins never did think much of when people weren’t willing to have their ideas challenged and didn’t have real answers for those challenges. And this incident reminded him of why he didn’t like it.

Biggins watched him leave again with another scowl on his face. Well, he was sure he could come up with something else for Herriot to do when he came out again. If was going to have to put up with another addition to his bill, he’d make sure to get his money’s worth for it.

He walked out of the cow barn and saw Scotty trotting across the yard. When the dog got close to the storage shed, however, Scotty altered his path to give it an even wider berth than he would have originally.

Biggins scowled. It was that cat. It had to be. That cat had Scotty completely cowed, and it was ridiculous. And on top of that, she seemed to have claimed that storage shed for herself. It was time that he reminded that cat who was actually in charge around here.

He stomped toward the shed and peered inside to find the cat sitting on a large, cracked crate near one of the windows. However, she was not alone. Clamped firmly in her jaws was a rat. Quite dead from the look of it.

She narrowed her eyes at him again as he approached and crouched down with her prize still in her mouth.

A smirk appeared on Biggins’ face. Scotty always was a barker and probably gave the rats plenty of warning whenever he came near the shed. Now that he wasn’t going near it, the cat was free to hunt with the stealth that was natural to her kind.

“That’s how it is, is it?” he nodded triumphant. “Needed old Scotty out of the way so you could get your dinner.”

The cat blinked slowly, but showed no other response. Biggins was confident that he had a solution to his rat problem now. And, truth be told, he approved of that cat’s willingness to not be overly concerned with fitting in with the other animals or with any niceties in order to get what she wanted.

Biggins continued to smile as he walked out of the barn and into the house.

* * *

 

The next morning, there was a bowl of milk outside the shed door.


End file.
